


Live Más

by ultimateparadox



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Revelations, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 12:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimateparadox/pseuds/ultimateparadox
Summary: Every couple has something that annoys them about the other person and Hunk's boyfriend adores Taco Bell.





	Live Más

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GhostEyeJohnson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostEyeJohnson/gifts).

The text read: _ur bf is a fckn ghoul_

Hunk sighed. When it came to texts from Lance, he supposed it was par for the course.

**To Lancey Lemon:** _I'll bite. What's happening? _

Lance's response was both not an answer and yet incredibly telling:_ i dont rly get it hes dating u but hes always at taco bell live mas bitch_

Honestly, Hunk couldn't even be surprised anymore. He knew about this Thing from the get-go; Taco Bell was Keith's thing and Hunk would have to take it or leave it.

**To Lancey Lemon:** _I tell him I'll make him nacho fries all the time but he hasn't asked yet._

**From Lancey Lemon:** _he said sumthn about crunch wraps_

Then, a minute later: _he got 3 dorito tacos dude i cant watch this i never wanna go 2 tb w keith again_

His phone buzzed in his hand a minute later.

**From Keefy Kiwi:** _i got tacos. we can share_

Hunk really didn't want to eat anything from Taco Bell, but when he discovered the Thing, he chose to take it. Sure, sometimes he lectured Keith on the absolute curse he was inflicting on his body, but without fail the next day Keith would have thought outside the bun again.

**To Keefy Kiwi:** _Thank you!_

The line of heart emojis he got back was probably worth it.

* * *

The sweltering summer sun beat down on the collection of square tents. Brightly colored balloons and banners pointed passerby to the fundraiser. Hunk had pulled off all the stops through the night before and the early morning of, sweating over the hot stove for hours upon hours. Baked goods were his specialty and helping the animal shelter was his sudden passion and he was going to attract the best in all people with his mastery.

Still, he'd barely slept and it was so, so hot. Even in the shade of the tent he felt queasy. There was a girl doing laps around the park selling bottled water and he was waiting to see her again. Hunk was fairly certain he'd just missed her, distracted by selling a customer an array of different cookies, but he figured he could wait her out one more time. The park wasn't that big, he reasoned, and the event was smaller.

"Are you okay?" 

Hunk turned his head on a tired neck. For a second he thought maybe the heat fried his brain or maybe he'd died and heaven smelled like sweat and sugar. After all, that was an enormous freaking beast of a dog next to the long-haired guy looking at him with open concern, a half-full paperboard drink tray and rolled paper bag in his hands. Seriously, if a dog's head was nearing rib height, it was a massive dog, and his sleep-sick brain could only concentrate on one thing at a time.

"Your dog is beautiful and giant," he told the stranger succinctly. 

The guy, a little burned by the sun, glanced down at the dog next to him, then back to Hunk. "Thank you? Hey, seriously, you look kinda bad."

He should resent that remark, truly. However, since his brain had shifted focus from the dog to its owner, he instead said, "You don't." Maybe it was the sunburn, but Hunk liked the pink on this guy's pale cheeks.

The dog owner stepped forward to Hunk's tent and display tables. From his drink tray he placed a tall, paper cup and straw. "Here, have a soda. I think you need it more than I do."

"Nah, I don't want your drink, man," Hunk denied. The stranger gave him a sharp look that reminded him of long-gone P.E. classes. 

The look on his face changed in the next moment to quiet contemplation. "Do you like Sierra Mist?"

"Uh, yeah? But if it's in that cup on my table I don't want it."

"Fair," he agreed with a brisk nod. "But wrong. That's my baja blast." Better to ask forgiveness than permission might have been this guy's motto because he slipped around the edge of the table and into the shade of Hunk's tent, dog trotting happily at his heels. He placed the second cup from the drink tray into Hunk's hands. "Fuck Shiro's quesaritos, he forgot my lunch yesterday. Dig in." From the bag he pulled out two wrapped packages stamped with Taco Bell logos.

Stuck in the unforgiving summer heat with what he would come to know as Keith's special brand of stubborn kindness, Hunk was forced to share lunch with his would-be boyfriend for the first time.

* * *

It was a late Monday morning when he got Keith's text that solemnly read: _burned my hand at work. don't worry_

Hunk frowned at the message until the screen went black. Keith had told him he'd started working at Marmoroasts when he was sixteen and had enjoyed his steady employment and free coffees ever since. It was rare for him to be clumsy in general, let alone surrounded by hot beverages. Either someone else had burned him or Keith wasn't feeling on top of his game. Regardless, it only led to one possible course of action from Hunk.

He replied: _Oh no! I'll bring you lunch later, okay? What do you want?_

Hunk should have known, really.

**From Keefy Kiwi:** _can you stop at taco bell? i wanna pick apart a nacho bellgrande or whatever they call it_

Of course Keith wanted Taco Bell. Hunk almost wanted to scold him, but then he pictured Keith running a burn under cool water and the very idea made him more sad than he was annoyed with his boyfriend's ongoing assault on his colon.

At lunchtime with a net loss of approximately four dollars and a net gain of fake Mexican food, Hunk arrived at the corner coffee shop. It faced the same park they'd met in, sponsored part of the fundraising event itself that day. It wasn't the first time he'd met with Keith for lunch and had met a handful of Marmoroasts' other employees, stalwart veterans that Keith assured him were all very warmhearted (and after learning about their involvement in helping the animal shelter, Hunk believed him), so when the tinkling bell announced his arrival he wasn't put off by the man up front's silent nod of greeting. 

From the back, going at a clip Hunk would dare to call excited, Keith came out to meet him in his magnificently magenta apron. They met with a brief embrace and Keith murmured a muffled, "Hey," into his shoulder.

Sensing the subdued mood, Hunk greeted him back just as softly. Keith peeled himself away from Hunk to glance at the employee behind the counter. Wordlessly, the man pulled out two ceramic mugs with the Marmoroasts name emblazoned across its circumference in bold, striking letters. They were pricey, novelty things for tourists, but Keith had explained the owner kept a few on hand for the employees to use. He made them both similar drinks, but from the entryway Hunk couldn't see exactly what the barista was making.

"Thanks, Antok," Keith said as he led Hunk to a small, two-seater table at the side of the cafe. Antok came around to bring them the drinks, and when Hunk got a whiff of them he realized it was hot chocolate. He thought about the little coffee house in the winter, of sitting across from Keith clutching a mug with sweater paws and cheeks flushed from the wind outside. It was a critical strike on his heart.

"Enjoy your lunch with-" 

"I will, thanks," interrupted Keith with sudden fervor. Antok chuckled, a deep growling sound, and received a particularly venomous stink-eye until he returned behind the counter.

"Uuuh?" Hunk placed the paper bag down in front of Keith. Mysteriously, he wouldn't quite meet Hunk's eyes. When he grabbed the bag and pulled the flap open, his hands, one angrily reddened, were steady, so he was merely embarrassed by something, not upset.

"Did you want something from the display while you're here? I'll comp." It looked like whatever that interaction was about would remain unexplained. Keith waved over to a small glass display built into the counter, full of decorated pastries. A laminated index card was taped to the display indicating that the owner baked them fresh every morning. 

(Keith used to talk about how good Kolivan's pastries were, certain Hunk would love them. Hunk didn't think Keith was wrong, exactly, but one day Hunk baked him a small coffee cake and he'd never brought it up since.)

"Nah, I'm good. What about you, though? Not about the pastries, the being good part. How's your hand?"

"Fine," he replied in that very conspicuous, too-fast way. Judging by the way his lips pressed flat, Keith knew he had only stoked the flames under his seat. "It wasn't a big deal. My head was just...somewhere else and I made a mistake. It's not serious."

"I'm glad it's not bad," Hunk conceded. He let Keith feel safe enough to pull out his food and prepare to eat over seven hundred miserable calories. Then, "Where was your head?"

Loaded chip raised halfway to his lips, Keith sighed. Looking like he was headed to the gallows, he shoved the food in his mouth like it was his last meal, swallowed like it hurt, and admitted, "Heard some, um, rough news from the boss."

"That's so ominous. I hate it." Hunk swiped a nacho. Hypocritical, perhaps. Was he a stress eater? No doubt.

Keith and Antok exchanged a brief glance before the older man pointed to the bell on the door and disappeared into the back to provide them privacy. That meant he knew the bad news and that it was sensitive enough to warrant privacy at all.

Hunk glanced out the windows. The lunch rush would be soon, bursting their quiet bubble.

"I never knew my mom, you know that," Keith blurted as if feeling the pressure of the ticking seconds. "So I couldn't just ask around if I didn't know her name or her face. Likewise, if she ever talked about her son, me, she missed my whole life, so there's not a lot for her to know.

"So, really, when she told her military buddies about the man and child she left behind in Arizona and how much she wanted to go home, why would they assume this sixteen-year-old punk turning in his application in Seattle would be the same Keith. How could they possibly know?"

Keith dug into a pocket in his apron, withdrawing a folded photograph, and slid it across the table. Hunk recognized a few of the faces from Marmoroasts: diligent Antok, the carafe king Ulaz, and the shop owner Kolivan, all much, much younger. There were two he didn't know, however, and he had a sickening suspicion that the man and woman had passed. Keith cleared his throat, eyes on his food, trying to ignore the weight of the world. "Her name was Krolia Lee, but everyone called her Lee because she'd write it in Hangul on her gear. She died in action with their squad mate, Thace."

Carefully, Hunk picked up the photograph. It was old, worn at the edges, folded over so many times the bends were fraying white. It wasn't in poor condition due to neglect; it was a comfort item to one of those people in fatigues. Someone had given it up to give Keith closure, increasing the photo's worth several times over. "You look like her," he said softly, handing it back to Keith.

"You think so? Thanks," he replied, tucking it safely away. He picked at his nachos. "My dad died when I was a kid. Too young for me stop getting mad that she was gone to really ask and learn about her. I'm sure he loved her. Kolivan's the one who asked me my dad's name and remembered her stories and figured it out. He dug this out of a box of keepsakes."

"It must have been important to him," Hunk acknowledged. "He knew it would be important to you."

Keith nodded. "Growing up in foster care…sucked. Mine's not a horror story, but I'm not gonna pretend it was a great time for me. Shiro's family adopted me and by now I've had them for as long I had my dad. I'm grateful for them. Grateful for my dog. I'm grateful for you, and our friends, and these coffee shop geezers. You all make things better."

He took a deep, shuttering breath, a light of determination lifting the pallor from his face. He took a confident bite of one of his nachos. "No matter where you go," Keith mused. "There's always a shitty fast food place. I would be in a new town with a new set of fosters, and there would be a familiar set of golden arches or a grungy Wendy's and you could afford it all on a child's allowance. I liked going to Taco Bell, though, because it reminded me of when my dad would try and flip tortillas with his hands, always telling me not to try. He liked Mexican food a lot, couldn't speak a lick of the language, though. S'dumb. Taco Bell's not real Mexican food. It just gives me heartburn instead of heartache."

Time to be the bigger man. Hunk heaved a great sigh as he accepted defeat with as much grace as he could muster. "Look. I know sometimes I maybe scold you for the amount of Taco Bell you eat - don't roll your eyes at me, I have eyes and I can see you - but I'll try to do it…less. But in exchange you actually have to ask me to make real Mexican food for you sometimes, okay? I want to do that for you."

Keith smiled, small and soft, and it was like the sun piercing the clouds. "You gonna flip tortillas with your bare hands?"

"No," Hunk answered and that was that. "So, what does Antok know about you that you don't want him saying in front of me?"

"God," Keith hissed, though he looked relieved at the sudden change of subject. "He saw me texting you and read your contact name in my phone and he thinks it's positively hilarious." Louder, towards the back, he exclaimed, "Even though what's on my phone is none of his business!"

Perfectly on cue, Antok returned from the back, his face turned away from them, but Hunk could see his shoulders jumping with suppressed laughter.

The bell above the door chimed.

Later, while Hunk was tapping through tabs on his laptop, pouring over salsa recipes while Keith sprawled ungainly over the remaining space on the couch, he asked, "Hey Keith? What's my name in your phone, anyway?"

Keith blushed pink, his favorite color on him, and tossed his phone over to let Hunk see: Handsome Hunky Hash Brown.

**Author's Note:**

> Hunk uses his auto-correct to fix his spellings, grammar, capitalization, and punctuation. He likes being readable.
> 
> Lance texts like a hooligan. It's part aesthetic, mannerisms, and it bugs Veronica.
> 
> Keith likes to be understood but he can't be assed to be perfect.


End file.
